


Fact and Fantasy

by Opal_ex_Machina



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, I don't know how tags work, Modern AU, darcy's a lawyer, lizzie's a struggling writer, sass ensues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-08-25 03:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16653583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opal_ex_Machina/pseuds/Opal_ex_Machina
Summary: Lizzie Bennet just can't catch a break. Her writing career won't take off. She hasn't gone on a second date in over a year. And her mother won't let her forget it. And if that weren't bad enough, now her perfect sister's boyfriend's best friend won't let her forget either.





	1. Chapter One

Whoever said that being a fantasy writer was a viable career choice deserved to be shot, Elizabeth mused, tacking the newest addition to the wall with her other rejection letters. 

“Didn’t the landlord say we couldn’t put nails in the wall?” a soft voice asked from somewhere over her shoulder. 

“Okay, Jane. A— It’s not a nail; it’s a thumbtack. And B— he also said the shower had good water-pressure, so who gives a fuck what he says.”She noticed the almost imperceptible tightening of her sister’s mouth and sighed. “Fine, who gives a frick what he says.”

“Lizzie you know it’s not the word that bother’s me, it’s the intention. And, as the person who actually paid the deposit on the apartment, I care.” 

Elizabeth threw her hands in the air in mock defeat. “You win. I’ll use sticky tack for the next 500 I’m bound to get, but I can’t do much about the ones that are already up.” 

“Thank you,” Jane said as she crossed the small room to the bathroom. “And we both know you won’t get that many letters. I’m sure someone will want to publish you. It’ll just take time,” she added before shutting the door.

“It’s more likely I’ll have set my manuscript on fire in some fit of Romantic inspiration well before I get that many rejections.” Lizzie shouted through the door as she flopped down onto the couch. “You’re taking your time getting ready,” she added when her sister didn’t respond. “Any reason you’re particularly excited for this blind date?” 

“Who said I was particularly excited?” Jane asked as she left the bathroom, smelling like something floral. She really should figure out what that perfume was, Lizzie thought. Jane had worn it for years. 

“No one. It’s just that you’re actually wearing makeup. You know full well you don’t need it, and you usually only wear it when there’s someone you want to impress. 

Jane flushed prettily under her light layer of foundation. “Do you think I will? Impress, that is.” 

Lizzie grinned. “He’s an idiot who’s not worth your time if he’s not impressed. When are you supposed to meet him?” 

“In about an hour,” she responded lightly, slipping her coat over her shoulders. 

“Then why are you leaving now?” Lizzie asked, sitting up straighter. “You’re meeting at the MFA, right? That’s only 20 minutes from here by bike.” 

“I’m taking the bus. I hate biking in the city.” 

“Christ, this guy better be worth your time if he’s making you take public transportation.” 

“Goodbye Lizzie,” Jane said meaningfully. 

“Have fun, lovely. Call me if he turns out to be insane and you need some excuse to leave.” 

“You know I will Lizz.”

Elizabeth smiled and Jane blew her a kiss as the door swung shut. 

Alone in the apartment, Lizzie let her face fall. 

It wasn’t easy being Jane Bennet’s sister. Jane had always had a charmed life. Perfect skin—even in high school— dark hair that somehow always fell in perfect, effortless waves, and blue eyes framed by eyelashes that would have put Elizabeth Taylor to shame. She could have been a model if she hadn’t chosen to do a degree in illustration. And of course she had been the one in a million art student to get steady work doing what she loved. And she was just so god-damn genuine and kind that Lizzie couldn’t begrudge her any of it. Though in her rare moments of total self honesty, she could admit that she hated herself a little for wanting to. 

Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the stove- just past two in the afternoon. Way too early to start drinking. 

She grabbed her laptop off the coffee table and opened up her latest work, staring blankly at the screen. _Thank you for your submission._ She typed a few words, deleted them. _Unique narrative voice, but…_ She managed to get a few sentences in the second time before undoing it all. _Not right for us at this time._

She just couldn’t get that letter out of her head. She shut her laptop and tossed it onto the couch next to her, digging her phone out from her pocket and finding Charlotte Lucas’s number. 

“Hey Lizzy! Has Jane left on her date yet?” Charlotte asked brightly when she picked up. 

“Yeah, she seemed pretty excited about it.”

“You don’t sound too excited about it,” her best friend added after a pause.

“Can’t get anything past you Char, can I?”

“Never have,” she responded brightly.

Lizzie chuckled. “Anyway, it’s not really that. I got another rejection letter today, and all of this is all just another reminder about how easy everything has always been for Jane.” 

“How many rejections is that? Twenty-seven? And besides, maybe this isn’t easy for Jane.You don’t know how the date’s going to go. Maybe he’s a pervert.” 

“Very funny, Char. And it’s twelve.” 

“Either way, you clearly feel bad. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Care to help me get shit faced?” Lizzie asked brightly. 

“Elizabeth Bennet!” Charlotte said in mock indignation. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“On a Saturday. You in or not?”  
Elizabeth could almost see the wolfish grin she knew her friend would be wearing. “You know I am.” 

* * *

In the end, they didn't get shit faced. It only took Lizzie one tequila shot to remember that she hated the stuff, and they ended up getting sidetracked by some British comedy show on Netflix. And so when Lizzie half stumbled back into her apartment sometime past 11, she was just drunk enough to feel the alcohol, but not drunk enough to feel it the next day. And not nearly drunk enough to miss the pair of much-too-big-for-either-her-or-Jane boat shoes left neatly by the door. 


	2. Chapter 2

Elizabeth was conflicted. Woken up earlier than she’d wanted by Jane’s cat Beatrix purring loudly in her ear, she debated whether she should get up and carry on with her Sunday as normal, or wait until she knew Jane’s gentleman caller had left.

Eventually, she pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and gave Bea a scratch under the chin, choosing to wait. At least until her bladder informed her otherwise. Grumbling wordlessly as she crawled out from under her duvet, she nearly made it through her bedroom door before remembering that underwear and a tank top was not appropriate clothing for company. Her grumbling got louder and more incoherent as she dug though the pile of clothes on the floor for a pair of pajama bottoms. She even put on a bra for good measure before walking out to the bathroom. She knew her chances of meeting Jane’s mystery blind date were slim, but better safe than sorry. And she was glad she had bothered when she opened the door and nearly walked into a broad back covered by a wrinkled white shirt. 

She squeaked in surprise. The owner of the broad back turned, and Lizzie found herself herself staring into a good-looking— though not quite classically handsome— face. His green eyes widened for a second before his face broke out into an easy grin. 

“Sorry if I startled you,” he said, running a hand through tousled, gingery hair. 

“Oh, no no no. It’s fine,” Lizzie responded, waving a hand dismissively as her eyes darted between him and Jane’s open door, feeling a sudden flood of relief when she slid into view. 

“Lizzie, this is Charlie,” she said as she stepped out next to the man in question. “Charlie, this is my sister Lizzie.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, the smile still on his face as his hand shot out. 

“Likewise,” she responded, lightly shaking his hand, slightly at a loss for words. What was the etiquette for this? How were you supposed to respond to your sister’s blind date turned one night stand turned maybe more than one night stand? “I’ll leave you two to do,” she waved her hand vaguely, “whatever you were doing before I got here.” 

She turned and walked as quickly as she could without running back to her own room, groaning as she threw herself down on her bed. She usually prided herself on her repartee, but that had been bad. Really bad. At least she’d put a bra on. But honestly, what else could she have done? She couldn’t risk scaring him off yet if it turned out her sister really liked him. And she must really like him if she brought him home on the first date. 

He had a nice smile. But it could have been a ‘I just had sex with a beautiful woman’ smile, and not a real reflection of who he was. Only time would tell. Or Jane. 

She waited impatiently until she heard the familiar clunk of the heavy front door closing before running out, fully aware that she looked almost manic. 

Jane spun from her place by the door, a wide-eyed look somewhere between surprised and guilty.

“Jane Bennet, you dirty dog!” Lizzie shouted.

“I’m so sorry about that, Lizzie,” Jane started, but Elizabeth cut her off with a giggle.

“Don’t apologise! I take it your date went well?” 

Jane flushed prettily, answering Lizzie’s question.

“So tell me about him. How was the sex?” Lizzie asked with a cartoonish wiggle of her shoulders. 

“Lizzie, don’t be crude!” but Elizabeth’s laughter was infectious, and Jane’s seriousness was undercut by her own. “His name is Charles, and he runs an art gallery, and he likes cats, and he owns a car, and I really, really like him.” 

“And he’s a tall glass of ginger ale.” 

Jane laughed again, walking across the room and sinking gracefully down onto the couch, curling her feet up underneath her. 

“I know you didn’t really talk to him at all, but what did you think about him?”

Lizzie sighed dramatically. “He seemed nice, but he wore sperrys.” 

“This is Massachusetts. Ninety eight percent of people wear sperrys.” 

“Be that as it may, unless they’re over the age of sixty five or own a boat, people who wear sperrys are probably assholes.” 

Jane hummed noncommittally. “I thought he was a perfect gentleman, sperrys and all.” 

“Perfect gentleman who goes to bed with a girl on a first date?” Lizzie asked flopping down next to her sister with much less grace.

Jane’s face fell. “It was my idea. Do you think I rushed things too much? What if he thinks I’m easy?” 

“That wasn’t what I meant!” Lizzie insisted forcefully, wrapping her arms around her sister’s waist and leaning her head on her shoulder. “If you wanted to have sex with him, that’s totally fine. And if he thinks less of you for that, then he’s a dick. But I just don’t want you to get hurt again.” 

Jane leaned into her sister, humming contentedly. “I’m glad you’re looking out for me, but this isn’t going to be like last time. I’m not the same person I was then.”

“I know. But please be careful.” 

“I will be. But I’d still appreciate it if you didn’t mention anything tonight.” 

Lizzie’s head popped up. “Oh fuck, I forgot about family dinner.”

“Liz,” Jane raised a reproachful eyebrow. “There’s no need to swear about it.”

“There isn’t any way we can get out of this, is there?” 

“Nope. Dad’s picking us up at five.” 

* * *

 

Fran Bennet was a fantastic cook. So good, that it almost made the inevitable reminders of all the reasons why Lizzie was still single worth it. Almost.

“You know Elizabeth, you really ought to sit up straight,” her mother said between bites of salmon. “You got the best breasts of the family— heaven only knows where they came from— but you’re not using them to your advantage.” Lizzie nearly choked on her own bite of fish, but her mother continued unperturbed. “I’d say that’s the one advantage you have on Jane, but you’ll never find a husband if you insist on trying to hide them.” 

“Sweatheart, could we not talk about my daughter’s breasts at the dinner table,” her father blessedly interrupted. 

“God dad,” Mary— the next daughter after Elizabeth— shouted, flinging her fork back down onto her plate of vegan, tofu _something_. “They’re just boobs. This is the perfect example of how women are still being systematically oppressed through patriarchal sexualisation of our bodies. They’re for feeding babies. That’s literally the least sexual-” 

“Mary, you need to get the fuck off tumblr and get a life!” Lydia, the youngest, shouted next. 

“Yeah, get a life,” Kitty— two years older and always two steps behind Lydia— added just for the sake of adding something. 

“For heavens sake Mary, just let it be!” her mother shouted. 

Elizabeth shot her father a look, and he rolled his eyes in return. By this point she knew he wouldn’t stop any of this, just let it spiral out of control as dinner devolved into a shouting match between Mary and Lydia. 

Only Jane looked calm. But that was just how Jane always looked. 

“You’re all just ignorant assholes!” Mary shouted, flinging her chair back from the table and storming away. 

“Well she doesn’t have to be such a bitch about it,” Lydia grumbled, smoothing her hair back behind her ears.

“I know dear,” Fran said soothingly. “But you know how your sister gets.” 

* * *

“There room for one more on that window seat?”

Elizabeth looked up at her father from a well-worn copy of _The Horse and His Boy._ “For you, always.” She smiled and curled up under his arm, head on his shoulder, when he joined her. 

“So are you hiding from your mother, or your sisters this time?” 

Lizzie laughed. “All of the above.” 

Her father chuckled. “Jane was saying she’d like me to take you guys home soon, but I wanted to see how my favourite girl was doing.” 

She sighed. “Not great. I got another rejection yesterday. And I’m starting to give up on the fantasy dream, and thinking about getting a real job. And you’re not supposed to admit to favourites.” 

“You could always take over my job when I retire.”

“I’m not sure I could survive high school english for the rest of my life. Besides, you’ve got years before retirement.” 

Her father laughed and pulled her in tighter. “I don’t think it’s the best fit for you either. I just want you to know you have options.”

“Thanks Dad.” 

“Dad, Lizzie, Are you guys coming?” Jane’s voice floated up the stairs. 

“On our way down,” Lizzie called as she stood and deposited the book back on its shelf. 

“So, how’s your love life?” her dad asked with a suspicious lightness. 

“Do you really want to know?” she responded, eyebrow arched. 

“No, but your mom does. And she’ll hound me for information as soon as you’re gone.” 

“Tell mom she’ll be the first to know when there’s anything to report.” 

“I’ll pass the message along. And speaking of your mother, she told me to tell you to get your roots done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, Mary was going to be more in line with her original character, but then the thought of her being a really self righteous tumblr SJW popped into my head and kind of stuck. Let me know what you think of the change.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Over the next few weeks Charles Bingley became something of a fixture at the apartment. If Jane was home, he was probably there with her. It took five days to convince Lizzie that his smile wasn’t a ‘just got laid’ smile; apparently it was just his face. The roast chicken she made on Monday was the best chicken he’d ever had. The movie he and Jane saw on Wednesday was his new favourite. Thursday had the most beautiful sunset he’d ever seen, and Friday saw a _new_ new favourite movie. 

It took ten to convince her that he genuinely just thought the best of everything.

And so when Lizzie came home after a shift at Barnes and Noble to find Jane alone on the couch with Beatrix on her lap and a smudge of pastel on her cheekbone, she was more than a little surprised. 

“No Mr. Perfect tonight?” she asked lightly, curling up next to her sister. 

Jane hummed the affirmative. “He has a gallery opening this weekend, so he needs to work late. Speaking of, we were invited.” 

“Ohhh, gallery opening. So we’ll need to pretend to be creatures of culture?”

Jane huffed lightly. “ _You_ might need to pretend. _I_ went to art school.” 

Lizzie feigned affront. "Jane Bennett. I think you have been spending all-together too much time with me. You bring a guy home on the first date. You make a joke at someone else's expense. What would Aunt Phil say?"

Aunt Philomena— their mother's sister, who hated being called Aunt Phil— was convinced that Elizabeth was a terrible influence on 'dear, sweet Jane' and had done everything in her very limited power to keep the two separate, even going so far as to offer to send Jane to summer camp sans Lizzie.

“Lizzie, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“Christ’s sake, that wasn’t a criticism. There’s no need to apologise! I like it when you’re snarky.” 

“Are you sure? I’m always afraid I’ll take a joke too far and offend someone.”

“Yes I’m sure. I don’t think you could offend me if you tried. Anyway, tell me about this gallery opening. Do you know who the artist is?” 

Jane nodded, still looking like she didn’t quite believe that everything was fine. “You remember my friend Mary from school?” 

“Red head, freckles, kind of cute, but looked like she huffed turpentine?” 

“Yes. But she didn’t huff turpentine. I don’t think she did, anyway. But she was the one who set me up with Charlie.”

“Well, in that case, we’ll have to go.”

* * *

“When you said he ran an art gallery, I assumed you meant a converted warehouse or garage or something, not _this,_ ” Elizabeth finished a bit lamely, gesturing up at the imposing brick edifice of Newbury street. She was suddenly twice as glad she had gotten her roots touched up the day before. 

“What difference does it make?” Jane asked, pulling Elizabeth in with her. 

“Do you know how much real estate costs here? Just renting this place probably costs more than we’ll make in our lives combined.” 

Jane hummed noncommittally, and Elizabeth stopped suddenly, narrowing her eyes.

“Did you get yourself a sugar daddy?” 

Jane pulled Elizabeth to the side as a tall woman with an impossibly chic auburn bob glared out of the corner of her eye as she mounted the steps past them into the gallery. “It’s really not like that. I didn’t know right away and I really do like him. He just happens to have family money. But please don’t treat him any differently because of it.” 

Lizzie laughed and poked her sister in the ribs. “I was only teasing and you know it. Besides, I think I’ve proven that it takes more than money to turn me into a sycophant.” 

Jane’s shoulders dropped as she let out a relieved breath and followed her sister up the gallery steps. 

Charlie spotted them almost as soon as they walked through the door; Jane was always hard to miss. But it was hard for Lizzie not to smile when she saw his face light up at the sight of her sister.

He quickly excused himself from a conversation, and hurried over to them, giving Jane a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you guys could make it!” As he spoke, the words seemed to race each other out of his mouth. “You’ve met Mary, right Lizzie?” He wrapped an arm around Jane’s waist and ushered her further into the gallery. 

“We’ve met, but I’m not particularly familiar with her work,” Lizzie broadened her steps to catch up with them. “Last I heard she was working with hair.”

For half a step, Charlie’s grin seemed to falter, but it was back almost before Lizzie noticed it had gone. “She still does work with it on occasion, but we’re not showing any of it tonight. It’s a little, uhh…” he struggled to find a word.

“Polarising?” Lizzie suggested. 

Charlie nodded emphatically. “That’s a very, uh… _nice_ , way of putting it.” 

“Jane!” a new voice called out over the low babble of the gallery, as the artist in question pushed herself into sight. Mary looked the same as Elizabeth remembered. Her frizzed, red hair was maybe a little longer and wilder, but she was wearing the same combat boots as when they’d first met. “How are you doing babe?” she asked, linking arms with Jane familiarly. 

“I’m doing well. It’s nice to see that you’re doing well enough for a gallery show.”  
“Yeah, I do what I can. You still doing kid’s stuff?” 

“Yes, I am.”

Lizzie could tell from the way Jane’s eyes suddenly started flitting between Mary and the floor that she was looking for a change in subject, and so quickly interjected, “I think Charlie was just about to give us a tour of the show.”

Charlie nodded emphatically, but Mary just laughed. “I’ll show them around. You go do your job and schmooze the saps who are going to buy my shit.” 

For a second Charlie looked like he was about to protest, but Mary had already begun dragging Jane off. Lizzie shrugged and shot him a crooked grin. 

* * *

They didn’t see much of Charlie after that. Jane and Mary seemed busy chatting with mutual acquaintances, and Lizzie meandered from piece to piece.

It wasn’t quite to her taste; it was too aggressive, seemed to be trying to get a reaction for no reason but to get a reaction. She much preferred Jane’s dreamy watercolors. 

What she did enjoy was hearing other people’s reactions. Some old woman said the use of color reminder her of Miró (whoever that was); her companion said it looked like hotel art. Auburn bob liked it. 

She glanced around the space looking for Charlie. Jane was deep in conversation about some art thing Lizzie wouldn’t have the first clue about contributing to, and she didn’t know anyone else. She spotted his mess of gingery hair across the room. She was about the make her way towards him when she noticed the direction he was heading. Or to be more precise, the person he was heading to.

Tall enough to stand out in the crowded space, dark hair cut and styled into something that wasn’t trendy, but which accentuated the angles of a face that looked like it had been made by a renaissance sculptor. Christ he was good looking. 

Lizzie hurried back to Jane, blessedly finished with her last conversation. “Jane, Jane!” she whispered, swatting her sister’s arm. “Don’t look, but there’s a guy who just came in who looks exactly like Gregory Peck.”

Of course, Jane looked. “Charlie’s talking to him now. I bet he’d introduce us if we went over there.”

“Jane, we can’t do that. I’d look needy and desperate.” 

“Lizzie, you _are_ needy and desperate. You haven’t gone on a date in months, and that’s including the tinder disaster.” 

“ _I_ know I am. That doesn’t mean I want anyone else…” She suddenly cut herself off as auburn bob attached herself to his arm with a wide, white toothed smile that he returned, albeit somewhat less enthusiastically. “Oh, shit. He’s already taken.” 

Jane hummed. “You don’t know if he’s taken for sure. They might just be friends.” 

“Honestly Jane, men aren’t friends with women like that. I guarantee he is intimately familiar with whatever couture, designer lingerie she’s wearing.” 

Jane wrinkled her nose. “Do couturiers even make lingerie?”

“They must. There’s clearly a market.”

For all that, Lizzie couldn’t quite stop herself from meandering closer, hoping to catch a strain of conversation. And she may have meandered slightly more quickly when she spotted the elegant redhead making her way (sans gentleman) in the direction of the bathrooms.

She felt a small thrill of victory when she caught Charlie’s voice over the dull hum of conversation. 

“Will, I don’t know why you even bother coming to these things. You never like the art and you just stand there glowering at everything that moves.” 

“You know I’ve been busy with work. I only came tonight because you said you’d introduce Jane.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Charlie grab his friend’s arm. “She’s perfect. I don’t know how it’s possible for a woman to be that perfect.”

Elizabeth felt a flush of secondhand pride. It was nice to know that Charlie recognised it. 

Will gave a brusque, noncommittal, ‘Hm.’

“She’s the tall brunette, the one by that green, vagina-looking painting.”

Elizabeth glanced over; it _did_ look like a green vagina.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” 

“She is,” Will said plainly. A statement of fact. 

“You know, she has a sister,” Charlie said suddenly, and Lizzie’s stomach did a sickly little flip flop. 

“Charlie,” came the tired sounding reply, “I’m really not…”

But his friend carried on with hardly a break. 

“She’s the blonde over there. I could introduce you if you wanted.” 

Lizzie risked a glance in their direction; he was looking at her. Two pairs of true blue eyes met for a fraction of a second before his darted away. 

“The last thing I need right now is you throwing another bleach blonde at me. And at least the last few were pretty.” 

She should have been more offended, she thought briefly. But all she could feel was a welling bubble of absurdity. If she’d been anywhere else it would have burst into a laugh, but here Elizabeth satisfied herself with a quirk of an eyebrow and a quick rush of air through her nose. Better to know a man was shit before any feelings were involved, especially if he was friends with her sister’s boyfriend. And at least she would have a good story to tell Charlotte over a glass of wine. 


End file.
